


strike up the band

by sazzafraz



Series: give me envy, give me malice, [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Psychic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 11:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sazzafraz/pseuds/sazzafraz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one expects the Lydia Martin Inquisition. They should, she is an excellent bet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strike up the band

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a series now.
> 
> I am so sorry. For further updates here is my [tumblr](http://slowtakedowns.tumblr.com/) which I am using and yes I say that a lot but I mean it this time, I promise.

So Scott and Stiles disappear overnight.  
  
This is not an overwhelming concern for her. Allison is borderline inconsolable and Jackson is pleased. She spends days telling Allison she could do better in her worst paisley print dress on a bad hair day in a snowstorm. She still cries. Lydia isn’t good at this. She’s never had to be. In a moment of sheer desperation she says she can find out what happened. Allison stops crying, thank god, just to tell her to not go looking. It’s too dangerous, she says, too big a secret.  
  
Lydia tilts her head and waits a beat too long to say _okay_. Allison makes her promise on every actually comfortable pair of heels she won’t that she won’t go looking. She promises with a smile and a snarky comment. Allison dismisses her with a tiny smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Lydia doesn’t bother with an answering one. If her best friend doesn’t know her well enough to not dangle something like that in front of her it’s not her fault.  
  
No one expects the Lydia Martin Inquisition. They should, she is an excellent bet.  
  
\--  
  
It takes exactly a week to figure out the whole _werewolf_ angle. The overwhelming symbolism kind of gave it away.  
  
She puts on her old combat boots and her best dress and if it happens to be red who is she to ruin the metaphor. She takes some silver and some wolfsbane and a gun her father has ‘for protection’ and goes out to the old Hale property with the sun high in the sky. The house is in shambles but there are two very new graves with spindly fingers of white material reaching out of the dirt.    
  
‘My family,’ a stranger walks out and she holds the gun up, she’s inexperienced and it’s obvious. The stranger smiles handsomely, everything about him is handsome, ‘I imagine they’ll rise soon.’  
  
She raises an eyebrow. ‘Because in a town infested with werewolves what we really needed was zombies.’  
  
‘You know about wolves?’ He says with a smile. There's red on his face.  
  
She shrugs her shoulders and tries to remember if she even loaded the damn gun. The man steps forward, catches himself, leans back on his heels instead, ‘Peter, by the way.’  
  
‘I don’t think you need to know who I am.’ She says and recalls, that no, she did not load it, and now the red dress was both a dumb and dangerous choice.  
  
Peter smiles with a jaw that looks like it’s breaking apart, ‘I do. I really, _really_ do.’

\--

Her parents coddle her and barely talk to each other. Her mother says cutting things about how she’ll look in her dress. Allison and Jackson visit, together, and if she was the jealous type she’d watch that. She thinks someone else does too, late at night when the moon is high, two pairs of feet but only one voice.

She walks up with a mans breathe on her neck and the crushing sense of possesion.  

\--

She went out to see the big bad wolf in her best dress and practical shoes. She really should have expected the wolves to follow her home.

\--  
  
And then the dreams start.  
  
She’s pushing into a mouth. Into heavy, soft hands on her hips and she wants it. He fucks her in her head. Pulls her thighs around his head and holds her there. She does worse to him, soon there’s not a place she hasn’t touched or been. Nothing she hasn’t owned. It’s power and she wants it but at the same time as the cuts grow heavy with scarring that fades to pale skin she starts feeling a twin pair of hands heavy on her wrists and shoulders, pulling her away from the mouth and whispering secrets into her ears. She tries to pull away from all of them but finds herself wrapped in a blanket of purple flowers. The flowers are safety from the hard press of teeth on her neck and claws curved on her when they shouldn’t be. She dreams of burning alive and then of waiting, always waiting, until the day she can walk again, until she can hunt again. She dreams of soft flesh between her lips and the soft twinned soul that belonged to the boys in the forest. The boys break away together and she could do the same, couldn’t she? Could do so much worse. She’s not a wolf. Doesn’t listen to the moon or the forest or the pack.  
  
She wanted power and control. Now she has so much of it she can scarcely imagine being without it. She can feel the pull of alpha in her. Pushes it away and bears the teeth of a different creature. Peter has miscalculated again. Her teeth are not the ones in the wolf's mouth.  
  
\--  
  
She’s in the forest. The moon is high. She can feel the worms crawling in the ground. She reaches down and she puts her fingers into the white string, silky and smooth, and pulls until a hand pulls out of the ground and then a body and then two bodies. The moon is high and she watches them breathe again. Peter’s family. Her family.  
  
‘Lydia,’ Peter says like it’s a revelation, ‘I had no idea.’  
  
‘Are they real?’ Her voice cracks, he's in her head and she can't tell if the chocking euphoria of seeing them is hers or his.   
  
‘Yes, no, both.’ Peter moves forward and cradles her head in his large hands, ‘come with me,’ he says and she feels the teeth in her jaw move. It sounds like fall down. It sounds like fall away. It sounds like _do as I say_. She can feel her mind fail her, _fail_ her, that’s never happened before, her mind is her hidden weapon, the last sharp knife. She wrenches her mind away and feels something trickle down the sides of her face.  
  
Blood.  
  
‘Do you know,’ she says, with blood slipping between her lips, coating her tongue, ‘how many myths there are about furious women, how many times a pretty face has ripped a man apart?’  
  
Peter looks stricken, she smiles and it’s with all the teeth of the kid’s he’s messed with, all the one’s he’s _fucked up_. He should really start leaving the kids in this town alone.  
  
‘Let me show you,’ she says quietly, knife sharp, hands reaching up and putting her hands on his face, ‘come on, it’ll be _fun_.’  
 


End file.
